Let me start from the beginning...
A few months ago, someone approached me in the subway at the Bedford Avenue stop in Williamsburg and asked if they could take a photo of me. Specifically, a photo taken of my hair blowing in the wind as the train approached the station. You know...for some type of "artistic project" sort of thing. I thought, why not? I'm always down for that sort of thing (as long as it's done quickly and painlessly...).
They told me that my photo, along with others, would eventually be in the MoMA. One ear and out the other... I thought it was just a nice convincing line to get me to take it seriously. I systemically followed their orders to "not smile" and looked directly into their camera lens as the train approached. I heard the rumbling and roaring behind me as the L plowed through and jolted to a halt in the station. Ding, a timer went off in my head. Okay, photo shoot over-- this was my ride and the doors would be closing any second--got places to go and people to see. Though I am pretty sure I was just on my way to my next meal. I scribbled my name and email on their release form, pried the doors open with a good portion of my body (yes, I was that person), and finally jumped inside of the train car. As the doors closed, I heard a muffled, "We'll email you!"
And that was that. I never got an email. But I wasn't surprised. Who would be able to decipher my hieroglyphic/chicken scratch writing of a name?
Fast forward to last week. I see this New York Times article. The artist's name is Neil Goldberg and the exhibition is called Stories the City Tells Itself. I scrolled through video stills of people standing with their hair blowing in the air from the train's gust of wind, and guess what, all of the photos were taken at the Bedford Avenue stop! I have to be in here, I thought. What I posed for months ago has got to be part of this exhibition. It just seemed like too much of a coincidence.
I raided Mr. Goldberg's website (I, quite honestly, had no idea who he was), and found out he had exhibited at the MoMA and The New Museum. I went through all of the featured images from his current exhibition. I found nothing, no photo, nada. I almost got excited when I saw a glimpse of a figure with curly hair, but it wasn't me. Maybe I got it all wrong. Or, worse, maybe my picture didn't make the cut.
That weekend I went to the Museum of the City of New York and sat through 35 minutes of film. I saw dozens of individuals in stop motion with their hair blowing in the wind who were not me, until the screen faded out and faded in, and finally I saw my fuchsia scarf:
Neil Goldberg, Wind Tunnel (still), 2012. Photo: S.B.
I couldn't believe it! My face on a huge screen. I was so excited, yet I also felt like the tiniest grain of sand in the sea. As I walked away and turned back, I saw a tour group congregated and focused on the screen I had just left and thought, they're going to see me.
I guess that's how being a New Yorker feels at times. And yes, it will be archived at the MoMA. It was the truth after all. How New York makes us all so skeptical...
Thank you Neil Goldberg.
“Stories the City Tells Itself” runs through May 28 at the Museum of the City of New York, Fifth Avenue at 103rd Street; (212) 534-1672, mcny.org.